


Poor Arabella

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Play, Anal Sex, Crying, Cunnilingus, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deception, Double Penetration, F/F, Forced Orgasm, Hairbrush Spanking, Incest, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Object Penetration, Strap-Ons, forced age play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:48:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24488494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Being the tale of an unlucky governess, a strange charge, and a stern mistress of the house.
Relationships: Innocent Governess Hired Under False Pretenses/Her Charge, Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Victorian Lady With a Dark Secret/Innocent Governess Hired Under False Pretenses, Victorian Lady With a Dark Secret/Innocent Governess Hired Under False Pretenses/Her Charge
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Poor Arabella

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plutonianshores](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/gifts).



> Please take any historical inaccuracies in this with a big ol' heaping pile of salt, as the main driving force behind this fic is "horny."

Arabella didn't want to admit it, but she was beginning to think that she was in over her head. 

The job posting had been a bit odd, admittedly, but no odder than some other ones she'd seen. _Seeking single woman for governess position_ wasn't so odd in and of itself - everyone knew that single women were a much better fit for this sort of job. And alright, so the letter had asked for a photograph, and for her job history, but that wasn't too complicated either, was it? It helped to know what your employee was going to look like. 

And then there had been the letter, not asking her but _telling_ her that she would be coming to their house on a certain date to take care of the baby. There had been a train ticket, and instructions on how to get to the great, old house from the train station. 

And now Arabella was lying in her small attic room, just off the side of the nursery, wrapped up in her slightly musty smelling sheets, and she wasn't sure what to do with herself. 

The estate was shabbier than she'd imagined - there only seemed to be two or three servants about the place, and a good deal of dust. Everything had an air of shabby gentility, like some relative that had that had recently fallen on hard times, but still showed up to the family reunion in moth eaten silks and threadbare furs.

The lady of the house - Beatrice - had been proud as anything, with impeccable posture. She had shown Arabella around the place in a perfunctory sort of way - _"This is the sitting room, I expect the little one presented before dinner; this is the dining room, which is only for important guests_ " - and then taken her up to the nursery to meet the little one.

Arabella had been looking forward to that - she'd always been fond of children. It was one reason she'd taken on this posting. The figure who had been sitting on the nursery's rag rug was not a child, as far as Arabella could tell. 

The girl was eighteen if she was a day, but she had her hair in ribbons and was sucking her thumb and cradling a rag doll. Her dress was white, with lace and ribbons all about it, the kind of thing a little girl would wear. 

"Mummy brought you a new lady to look after you, Sylvie," Beatrice had said, and the girl on the floor had frowned. 

"The last one was prettier, Mama," Sylvie had said, and that had startled a laugh out of Arabella, because this was an adult, lisping like a toddler. 

"That isn't very ladylike, Sylvie," Beatrice had scolded. 

"I'm not a lady," Sylvie had said back. "I'm the baby." And then she had smiled, and something about that smile had chilled Arabella to the very bone.

"This... isn't quite the arrangement that was suggested in your letter," Arabella had said weakly. "I was told I'd be caring for a little one." 

"And so you are," Beatrice had said, walking towards Sylvie. The clicking of her boots had gone silent, once she reached the rug, and then she was resting her hand on the top of Sylvie's head. The girl (woman?) had nuzzled into Beatrice's thigh, clung to Beatrice's leg. "I said I needed a governess to watch over my little one, and here she is." 

"But -" 

"You heard her," Beatrice said sharply. "She's the baby. A baby that needs tending. A little one. _My_ little one." 

Arabella hadn't been able to think of any response - the way Sylvie had been looking at her had been setting off some old instinct. All she had wanted to do was run out the door, back to the train station, to her mother's parlor, and damn her pride. She would be willing to endure her sister's sarcastic remarks and the pitying glances of the neighbors. In that moment, she would have done anything to get out of the horrible nursery, with its faded wallpaper printed with little lambs and bunnies and kittens in frocks and sailor hats. 

"You're obviously tired from your journey," Beatrice had said, pulling Arabella out of whatever daze she had slipped into. "I know the train ride can be exhausting. I'll have the cook prepare you a meal for your room, and we can discuss your duties in the morning." 

Then Beatrice had patted Sylvie on the head, and she had gestured Arabella to follow her. 

Arabella still wasn't sure why she had. She lay in bed now, and she listened to the house creak and groan around her, and she tried to figure out her next step.

_I should go home,_ she thought, rolling over and pressing her face into the flat pillow. _I should go home, tell Mother that she was right and that this was foolishness. That I should just get a husband, start a family, have an ordinary life._ But away from Sylvie's unsettling gaze, the idea stung.

She could stay. Maybe just for a little while. Maybe Sylvie was feebleminded, or just... looked older. Arabella's cousin Georgette had looked like nearly a woman grown by the time she was fourteen, and maybe this was a more... advanced case of something like that. Or maybe they were very rich, and could get away with that kind of strangeness, and they needed someone to keep up the illusion. 

If nothing else, it would be an interesting story to tell in the right sort of setting. She was sure that none of the giggling biddies at her mother's sewing circle had ever heard of this sort of situation. And she had decided to go into some kind of service to broaden her horizons, had she not? 

Arabella rolled onto her back, staring up at the beams, and she tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. She would be fine. _Everything_ would be perfectly fine.

* * *

Arabella reported to Beatrice's study the next morning, at precisely eight in the morning. She wore her best starched white blouse, and a smart wool skirt. She tried not to rub her hands together or rock on her heels, as she stood in front of the desk, waiting for Beatrice to look up at her.

Beatrice finally finished writing her letter, then made eye contact. "I see you are punctual," she said.

"Thank you, ma'am," said Arabella. "One does one's best." 

"You will be doing your best, when you're looking after my Sylvie," Beatrice said. "She is a very... special little one." Her sharp features softened as she spoke of the strange girl. "I love my little one very much," Beatrice told Arabella, "and you will be looking after her." 

"Of course," Arabella said, clasping her hands in her lap to keep from fidgeting. "Do you have a... a set schedule, as to what you would like me to do with her?" 

"Breakfast at nine, the afternoon meal is at one, and the evening meal is at seven," said Beatrice. "You may give her treats if she asks for them, or if she is particularly good." Another soft expression. "She is usually good," Beatrice added, as if she was confiding in Arabella.

"Most definitely," Arabella agreed. This was all taking on a very strange, almost dreamlike feel. "Do you have any particular... lesson plan? What do you wish for me to tutor her in?"

"My Sylvie is far too little for anything such as tutoring," Beatrice said, and she made a dismissive hand gesture. "No, no, she simply needs looking after."

"I see," Arabella said. _Are they going to be able to pay me? I can't stay here for just room and board, even if they were the only ones to offer me a position._

"You will receive your salary monthly," said Beatrice. "I recall you mentioning you wanted to send your wages to your mother?" 

Arabella nodded. "Thank you, ma'am." 

There was some more discussion about money - Arabella would receive a raise if she stayed on for at least six months (Arabella had her doubts about that, but she wasn't going to voice them just yet), a Christmas bonus. There would be food and shelter provided, and she'd have Sundays off. 

It was only Arabella's third governess job, but all of it seemed standard. 

"Now," said Beatrice, "I do believe it is time to wake the little one and get her ready for the day." 

* * *

Sylvie slept in a canopied bed, and she sucked her thumb in her sleep. She was sulky but biddable, giving one word answers to Arabella's questions. She was still and passive as a little doll as Arabella dressed her, brushed her hair. She sucked her thumb and stared dreamily out the window as Arabella attempted to make conversation. 

"So today, if the weather is nice, we can have a wander around the grounds," Arabella said. 

"Mama says I need to be careful when we go outside," Sylvie said, as she sat placidly on the bed and let Arabella brush her hair. "Because there are bad people who would snatch up a pretty little girl like me." 

_"Little girl"_ , Arabella thought. _You're two years younger than me, if that._ "We're perfectly safe on your family's land," Arabella said, as she began to plait Sylvie's hair. "We'll have breakfast, then we can go for a nice walk, then do some lessons."

"I don't want to do lessons," Sylvie said. "Lessons are boring."

"You've never had lessons with me," Arabella said, and she tied Sylvie's hair with a pink velvet ribbon on the end. "I'm ever so much fun. You'll see." 

Sylvie looked up at her, eyes wide, and for a moment she looked like an actual child, and Arabella's heart leaped into her throat. "I miss my old governess," Sylvie said, and her chin was going wobbly, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. "I miss Mary."

"I'm sorry that Mary had to go," said Arabella. "I'm sure that you had a whole lot of lovely memories with her, but you and I can make our own memories together." She gave Sylvie an impulsive hug from behind, and then she made a surprised noise when Sylvie turned around and squeezed her tight, face in between her breasts. 

"You're going to be nicer than Mary," Sylvie pronounced, and then she stood up, brushing the front of her dress smooth, and grabbing her rag doll. "I can just tell." 

Standing side by side like this, they were almost the same height. But Sylvie's thumb was drifting towards her mouth, and she was rubbing the rag doll against her cheek, her expression going faintly foggy.

"Come along," Arabella said briskly, and she reached out for Sylvie's hand. "I'm sure the cook has made us a nice breakfast." 

* * *

In a lot of ways, it ended up being like her previous postings that Arabella had. True, Sylvie was physically older than Arabella's other charges (Arabella was still surprised when she caught sight of the curve of Sylvie's breast, or the dark hair under her arms, and she was caught off guard whenever she noticed how they were nearly the same height), but emotionally... She was young indeed. 

Arabella could almost forget the unsettling gaze that Sylvie had pinned her with that first day, when she saw the girl gasping in delight as she got to pet the local dairy farmer's cows, or the intense look of concentration on the girl's face as she rolled out biscuits for the cook. 

Except... there was a canniness to the way she looked at Arabella sometimes, some kind of unsettling knowledge lurking in the backs of her eyes as they scanned over Arabella's form. Sometimes Sylvie's hands got... grabby, for lack of a better way of putting it, and not with the indiscriminate randomness of an actual small child. Somehow, her questing fingers always managed to find Arabella's nipple when they cuddled up in front of the fire at the end of the day or clutched each other as they rode along on Sylvie's pony, and Arabella had caught Sylvie's eyes roaming up and down the length of her legs, when the two of them stretched out comfortably on the nursery furniture. 

And then there was the matter of the onanism. 

Sylvie abused herself just about every night. Arabella had heard that self abuse could lead to damage of the mind, which was what Arabella suspected was what was occurring with Sylvie. She hadn't been sure how to react to it the first time she heard Sylvie gasping as her bed frame creaked (Arabella hadn't ever had a charge do that sort of thing before, as far as she knew), but when she'd approached Beatrice about it, the Mistress of the house had simply made a dismissive hand gesture.

"Did you not have your own childhood rituals before you went to bed?" Beatrice had looked up from the letter she had been writing, her eyes glinting over her spectacles. "The girl isn't hurting anyone or herself, and it keeps her calm."

Indeed, those were the most words Beatrice had spoken to Arabella since the governess had arrived. Usually, Arabella presented Sylvie to her mother at dinner time, went off to eat her own dinner in the kitchen, then took her charge back up to the nursery. 

The conversation had left Arabella troubled, but she wasn't sure what else to do with herself. Beatrice was her employer, and, more realistically, she couldn't exactly leave the estate. The cook lived in her rooms by the kitchen, and the groundskeeper had his cottage. The man who delivered their supplies came once a month, and otherwise it was at least two hours on foot, along the winding, narrow road through the moor. 

She was just going to make the best of it. That was what she always did. 

* * *

Arabella's dreary, slightly unsettling routine continued on for another two months. It was odd, Arabella reflected as she brushed Sylvie's hair, what one could get used to. 

It had been a quiet evening. Beatrice had given Sylvie her bath. That was another odd thing - Beatrice always insisted on bathing the girl, without Arabella present, although Arabella couldn't complain too much, because it gave her an extra hour off. Now the girl was snuggled up in Arabella's lap on the rug by the fire, as the rain beat down on the roof and the thunder growled. Occasionally, there would be a flash of lightning, and Sylvie would whimper and look up. The rain sounded especially loud up in the attic nursery, and the wind was howling like some great beast. 

"Time for bed," Arabella said, as the clock on the landing chimed the hour. "If it's still raining tomorrow, we can see about getting in some quiet reading time, maybe help Cook bake some bread if she's feeling like some company." 

"I don't want to go to bed," Sylvie said, and she was clutching at the front of Arabella's blouse, her fingers tight. "It's scary." 

"it's just the rain," Arabella said. "You're safe. Nothing can get you." She gave Sylvie a squeeze, and Sylvie sighed, pressing her face into Arabella's neck. 

"Stay with me," Sylvie said. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

"I can't stay with you, sweetheart," said Arabella. "You need to sleep." 

"Stay in my bed with me," Sylvie insisted. "It's big enough." Sylvie did indeed have a big bed - bigger than any child's bed that Arabella had ever seen. 

"I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," Arabella relented, "but I can't stay all night." 

"Can't you?" Sylvie's voice came out as a long whine, and it put Arabella's teeth on edge.

"I can't very well sleep in your bed," Arabella said. "It's _your_ bed. You have your bed, and I have my bed." Her bed, with its musty sheets, had become something like a refuge. Away from Beatrice's appraising looks and Sylvie's probing fingers, away from all of the strangeness of this house. 

"I can sleep in your bed?" Sylvie suggested.

"No," Arabella said firmly. "We wouldn't both fit. But I can keep you company until you fall asleep." 

"Fine," Sylvie pouted, and stayed crowded up close to Arabella, her head on Arabella's shoulder. "I guess."

"Bed," Arabella said firmly. She was already feeling overheated and crowded - Sylvie was just so _clingy_ , and sometimes it felt as if Arabella's skin would never get a break. She'd never been in contact with another person this much, not even when she'd worked with actual toddlers. 

"Alright, alright," Sylvie grumbled, but she got up with Arabella and made her way towards her wardrobe, to get changed for bed.

* * *

Arabella dimmed the nursery lights. She lay on the bed next to Sylvie, staring at the ceiling, and she wished she could take her corset off. She wanted to be in her own bed, in comfortable clothes, with a door between her and Sylvie. The nursery had better air circulation, at least. The rain pattering on the roof was soothing, and Sylvie was starting to relax, her breathing evening out. She was sucking her thumb (Beatrice had told Arabella not to try to break that habit, and that was an uphill battle anyway, so Arabella wasn't going to worry about it). 

Arabella let her eyes drift shut - Sylvie's bed was a lot more comfortable than hers, and it didn't smell musty. Sylvie was still clutching at her skirt, but at least that wasn't directly against her body. She was on top of the covers, her skirts spread demurely across her legs, and the softness of the bed made it feel like she was slowly sinking into it, like, she was floating on the surface of a lake. She fell asleep with the imagery sitting in her mind, and was comforted by it.

* * *

Arabella was woken up by the sensation of cool air on her collarbones. Some animal instinct told her to stay still and try to keep her breathing deep and slow, as the tip of one finger traced along her skin. It was warm - everything seemed to be too warm, and when was the last time someone had touched her this... intimately? 

She took a mental assessment, and then she tried not to shiver. Her blouse was unbuttoned at least to her corset, and the open fabric was just barely covering her nipples. Her skin was breaking out in goosebumps, and all of the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. 

_Why would Sylvie do this? Isn't she too little?_ Sylvie - and it had to be Sylvie, who else would come into the nursery to unbutton Arabella's blouse? - was pushing the fabric to the side, and now Arabella's nipples were bared to the air. They were getting stiff, and then Sylvie was... pinching them?

Arabella had to work very hard to keep her breath even, to keep from making any noise. Sylvie was twisting now, tugging, and it was making Arabella's stomach twist up in uncomfortable ways. There was some kind of heat building at the base of her stomach, and it was making her toes curl and her face heat up. She'd experienced that heat a few times in the past - reading a salacious magazine that had been passed around the girls in the neighborhood, or sometimes when she rode astride a horse and leaned too far forward. It was a building sort of tension that was making her tremble. 

Sylvie bent forward, and then there was a _mouth_ on her nipple, sucking. _I'm a governess, not a wet nurse_ , thought some dazed part of Arabella, and she was pressing her thighs together as Sylvie's tongue lapped against the tip of her nipple. She was feeling so tense, so empty inside, and that made no sense. She wanted... something, something she didn't have the words for. It wasn't anything like the dirty magazines she'd read; there weren't any strong arms holding her, no warm mouth crushed against her own. Sylvie's teeth were sharp, and she kept nipping.

Something about it was all so _uncomfortable_ , but it still seemed to be awakening something inside of Arabella. She wanted... she wasn't sure what it was she wanted, but her breathing was becoming more shallow, and she could feel her own heartbeat between her legs. She was pressing her thighs together, and she wanted nothing so much as to shove her hand between her legs and grind against it. The sensation that seemed to be building and building got stronger with each pull of Sylvie's hot little mouth, until it seemed that Arabella was teetering on the edge of some sort of... seizure? Eruption? There was some kind of tension mounting, and she hadn't the foggiest as to what it might be. 

It was more than a little bit frightening. 

Sylvie's fingers were pointy, and she seemed to be getting a great deal of joy out of pulling and pinching at Arabella's nipple, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger. She was making soft little noises, and her own hips were rocking, making the whole bed shake. It made the bed creak, not unlike when she was engaging in self abuse. At one point she switched sides, and then she was looming over Arabella, one hand moving down Arabella's corset, towards the waist of her skirt.

Arabella gave a little sigh of relief when Sylvie pulled away - she couldn't help it. Maybe the girl was getting bored, and she'd go back to sleep. Then she felt the cool air on her shin. It took a moment to realize that Sylvie was pulling her skirt up, and - 

"No!" Arabella sat bolt upright, and she was immediately disturbed at the sensation of her bare breasts jiggling in the cool air of the nursery.

Sylvie blinked at her in the dimness, and Arabella could just make out the way the girl was frowning, from the shadows thrown by the fireplace. "What?"

"No," Arabella said firmly, and she began to button her blouse up with shaking hands. "No, that is not how proper ladies behave, Sylvie."

"I'm not a proper lady," Sylvie said. "I'm the little one." She was still holding on to Arabella's skirt hem, pushing it up. "I'm the little one, and you're my governess. You're here to take care of me." There was something almost _feral_ in her voice, and it was making Arabella that much more nervous.

"You're going to be a lady some day, Sylvie," Arabella said, as she did up another button. Her hands were shaking, and it took her a moment to fit it through. "You're a lady now," she added, and that was a foolish thing to say. She knew it as soon as she did, but she couldn't seem to stop. "Surely you must know that you're a grown woman, Sylvie. You're not a child, and I know that you're smart enough to realize that -"

A loud noise rang out, and then there was a rush of heat on Arabella's cheek. It took her a moment to realize that Sylvie had just slapped her. The pain of it was a shock, and she wasn't even thinking as she brought her own hand up and slapped the girl back, right across her cheek.

Sylvie threw her head back and she _shrieked_ \- the kind of scream that belonged in an opera house, or possibly a particularly horrific ghost story. It almost drowned out the drumming on the roof, and then there was the sound of the feet on the steps, and the door slammed open. Light flooded the room as the door flew open and the lamps were turned up, and then Arabella was staring into the face of her employer.

" _What_ is going on here?" Beatrice demanded. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and she looked most fearsome in her severe black dress. 

"Mama," Sylvie said, and her voice was thick, as though she was about to start crying, "Mama, the governess _hit_ me!" 

"She hit me first," Arabella said, and she was aware of how childish she sounded. She cleared her throat, and she stood up carefully. "Sylvie was engaging in... inappropriate behavior," she said, grasping firmly to her propriety. She wasn't sure how much she could hold on to, but she could at least hope. Her hair must have been coming out of its pins, and her nipples were still hard, poking out through the thin fabric of her blouse. Her thighs were wet and sticky, as if she had been sweating, or possible wet herself, but it felt slicker than that, thinner. 

"Mama," Sylvie sobbed, and it was the most artificial crying that Arabella had ever heard, "Mama, you said the governess was here to take _care_ of me, and instead she's hitting me."

Beatrice glared down at Arabella - and how had Arabella not realized just how _tall_ Beatrice was? Arabella was not a short woman, and yet. "I hired you to look after my little one," Beatrice said. "Not to engage in inappropriate behavior!"

"I wasn't -" Arabella began, and then she didn't have a chance to finish, her sentence, because Beatrice grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her forward. Arabella nearly tripped, and found herself staring up at her employer with wide eyes. 

"You're acting like no better than a child yourself," Beatrice said. Her voice was still full of cold fury, but there was something silky and dangerous under it, and that was more terrifying than the fury. 

"I'll leave," Arabella said in a rush. "I'll leave, I'll pack my things and go, you don't even have to write me a reference, I'll just -"

"You'll do much more than that," Beatrice said, and then she was... turning Arabella around and bending her over the bed. She was surprisingly strong as well, and her small hand was pressing into Arabella's lower back, forcing Arabella face down into the overly soft mattress. "If you're going to act like a naughty child, you will be punished as such."

_You never punished Sylvia, and look where that got you_ , thought Arabella, then; _even I'm buying into the lie that Sylvie is a child, aren't I?_

"Mama, make her cry!" Sylvie said, and all of the fake tears had left her voice. "Do it, Mama!"

"Put your hands behind your back," said Beatrice, and then there was a hand yanking at Arabella's hair, forcing her head back. 

Arabella groaned - the pain of it shot up her scalp, and the angle was enough to make her back ache. "What?" She seemed to be two steps behind everything. 

Another yank of her head, and then the sensation of Sylvie leaning over her, grabbing Arabella's wrists and forcing them behind her back. 

"Good girl, Sylvie," Beatrice praised. "Such a good girl, helping Mama." The hand holding on to Arabella's hair let go, and Arabella tried to sit up, only to be shoved back down onto the bed. There was the sound of footsteps, and Beatrice was no longer behind Arabella.

"What are you doing?" Arabella tried to sit up, and was forced back down yet again. "Please. This is... this is inappropriate. I won't tell anyone about any of this, I won't do anything, but _please_ , let me go." There was a little seed of panic that was beginning to sprout in her gut, and if anything, the tense heat was feeding it. Instead of answering, Sylvie yanked her hair. It was a hard yank, hard enough to bring tears to Arabella's eyes. Or had she been crying before, and just not realized it? 

Beatrice came up behind her again, and then her wrists were being tied with... something. Something soft. 

"Mama, that's my favorite hair ribbon," Sylvie whined. "Don't use _that_ one."

"Mama will get you another one, dearest," said Beatrice. There was an indulgent tone to her voice, and it was making Arabella squirm. "Now," Beatrice said, and all of the indulgence had gone out of her voice, "do you know what we do with naughty little girls?" 

"I'm not a child," Arabella said, and she hated just how juvenile she sounded. 

"You're acting more like a child than Sylvie is," said Beatrice. "Sylvie, sweetheart, sit up."

Sylvie was pushing Arabella's face into the bed, and Arabella could just barely breathe. She made another protesting noise as Beatrice shoved her skirts up, piling them up around her waist. She sobbed when Beatrice's fingers hooked into the waistband of her drawers, shoving them down around her thighs.

"Punish her, Mama," Sylvie crowed. "Punish her, she's so bad, punish her!" 

_I'm sure we can talk about this like reasonable adults_ , Arabella wanted to say, or maybe _this isn't the sort of thing that people in polite society do_ , or maybe even _I'll tell the whole town that you're a horrifying monster_. But all that would come out of her mouth was more ugly sobbing, a gasping, wheezing sort of blubbering. She whimpered at the feel of Beatrice's warm hand on her backside, Sylvie's sweaty fingers digging into her hair. There was a _swish_ , and then an explosion of pain on her arse. 

Arabella tried to bolt upright, but Sylvie was bearing down on her, and she was off balance with her arms tied behind her back. She cried out, and it sounded like an infant's indignant cry, as another loud _crack_ filled the nursery.

"I've never been one for hitting children," Beatrice said, and she didn't even seem to be winded, as she kept raining hits down onto Arabella's rump. She could feel her own flesh _jiggle_ , and that was another humiliation piled up on top of the other ones. As if all of the other humiliations weren't already weighing her down, like a great rock upon her back. And possibly most embarrassingly, the desperate throbbing between her legs seemed to have awoken anew, and was making it even harder for her to stay still. She whimpered and wailed through hit after hit, and then the hand in her hair was pulling her back again, and she was staring into Sylvie's angry face. 

"Mama, she needs to apologize to me. Make her apologize to me." Sylvie was pulling Arabella's hair, and Arabella was still crying, great, choking sobs that seemed to shake her whole body. 

"Say you're sorry to my little one," Beatrice said, and another smack hit Arabella's backside. 

_What is she hitting me with?_ wondered the analytical part of Arabella's mind. _It feels wood. Maybe metal. A spoon?_ Another hard, slapping hit, and the sting of it seemed to suffuse her whole backside, heat and pain thudding through her. 

"I _said_ , say you're sorry," Beatrice said, and another shock of pain, across Arabella's lower thigh this time. 

Arabella howled, as another blow landed on her, and another. "I'm sorry," she wailed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" 

There was another tap, and she could feel the flat solidity of whatever it was that had been hitting her. _A hairbrush. It has to be a hairbrush._ She could almost see it in her mind's eye - Sylvie's silver hairbrush, with its broad, flat back. And why was she thinking about that, as her mouth ran off with her, vomiting up apologies and pleading for any kind of mercy, while Sylvie yanked her hair and Beatrice caressed her backside?

"She's not sorry enough, Mama," Sylvie said. "Make her be more sorry."

"Be more sorry," Beatrice said, and another harsh hit across Arabella's arse.

"I'm _sorry_ ," Arabella wailed, and then Sylvie was... lifting her up, sitting on the bed in front of her.

"You're a liar," Sylvie said. "You're not sorry, not ever."

"How would you like her to apologize to you, dearest?" Beatrice took a handful of Arabella's backside, and she was squeezing it hard enough to bring more tears to Arabella's eyes. She was... parting the cheeks of Arabella's arse, exposing Arabella's most _intimate_ parts to the cold air, and Arabela sobbed. 

"I want her to make me come, Mama," Sylvie said. 

_Come where?_

"Well?" The tip of Beatrice's finger was slipping between the cheeks of Arabella's arse, and that was... Arabella didn't like that. It was going closer to the more delicate parts of her anatomy. "Oh, for all that protesting you've done, you're awfully wet, aren't you?"

"Stop it," Arabella murmured. "Stop it, please, don't... touch me. Don't touch me there." The tip of Beatrice's finger was _in_ her now, and it shouldn't have felt so good, so _satisfying_. She gave a broken little moan, as the finger inside of her went deeper.

"Make me come," Sylvie ordered, and she was... grabbing Arabella's head, spreading her legs. Her thighs were on either side of Arabella's head, and Beatrice's thumb was pressing against some part of Arabella's anatomy that felt entirely _too_ good, and then Sylvie was... she was lifting her skirt up, and she was grabbing Arabella by the back of the head, forcing her face forward. There were sticky blond curls almost against her nose, and a dark, salty, musky smell filling her whole head. Sylvie's hips were jerking forward, and then her cunt was pressed right against Arabella's face. The lips of it smeared across Arabella's nose, her cheeks, and then there was a hard little nub against her nose and her lips were pressing against Sylvie's lower lips.

"No," Arabella said, or at least she tried to say, but her words were smothered by Sylvie's sex, and then there was another finger stretching her own cunt out, and that same disgusting pleasure curdling in her belly.

Sylvie grabbed the back of her head, and she used the leverage to grind her hips against Arabella's face, dragging more sticky, musky wetness across her face. She was panting and moaning, and the bed was creaking. Everything was loud, everything was just so _much_ , and Arabella couldn't breathe. Time was going slow, but it was going fast as well, because somehow a third finger had been introduced into her cunt, and was being thrust in and out. She was on the edge of that peak again, like when Sylvie had been playing with her breasts, and her legs were trembling, her shoulders aching. 

Apart from the fact that her mouth and nose were being covered up by Sylvie's cunt, and then Sylvie was squealing as her hips moved faster, and another gush of wetness was dripping down Arabella's chin. The fingers inside of her twisted, pressing up against something inside of her that made fireworks go off behind her eyes, and then there was sweet, painful pleasure filling her whole body up. It was _so_ horrible, and she wanted more of it. She could feel her cunt clenching around the fingers, and then _another_ , and oh, that was so much, and the wetness in her mouth and on her face seemed to be coming faster. She kept licking, lacking anything else to do, and then she sighed, as the fingers were pulled out of her. 

“This greedy little cunt needs more than that, I think,” said Beatrice, and another slap of the hairbrush landed on her upturned rump.

“Fill up both of them,” Sylvie said gleefully, and she mashed Arabella’s nose against her cunt, forcing the hard little nub at the top of it against Arabella’s nose. She was moaning and squealing again, and Arabella’s stomach twisted like a sack full of rats. There was something… prodding at her arse, something probing into a hole that _nothing_ should have gone into, and she groaned. 

“No,’ Arabella whimpered. “No, no, no, it doesn’t go there, nothing goes there, that’s dirty, that’s -” She pulled away, and her cheek was resting against Sylvie’s thigh. The stickiness was beginning to dry on her face, and it was going dry, like plaster or paste. Her tears were also starting to dry, although more of them kept tracking down her face - she was going to cry herself dry at this rate, and wither away. 

The thing was thrust inside of her, and it _hurt_ , how could something hurt so much? She’d never had something that hurt that badly, that felt that _horrible_. It was a sickening sensation that went all the way to her guts, and she clenched, and tried to push whatever it was out.

A slap was landed on her rump, but this one wasn't as... potent as the last one. There wasn't that same intense sting, and she gasped, as she was pushed forward. The thing in her arse was pushed harder, and it was thrusting. 

"Use your tongue," Sylvie said. "Use your tongue, you were saying all those horrible things, and now you can't even use your tongue?" Her thighs squeezed Arabella's face, and the thing in Arabella's arse kept pumping. Beatrice was pressing up against her now, Beatrice's breasts soft against her back, Beatrice thrusting the thing in her arse that much harder. 

"You heard the little one," said Beatrice, and she twisted the thing inside of Arabella, pushing it in deeper. There was a sensation of it bottoming out - there was something broad at the base now. 

_It's the hairbrush_ , Arabella thought dully. _She put the hairbrush inside of me._

Sylvie yanked at Arabella's hair, and Arabella cried out. She had Sylvie's slick all over her face, salty and thick on her tongue, and sure, why not use her tongue. They couldn't do anything else to her, could they? She was existing a few inches away from herself, and she wasn't paying attention to anything. She licked, dully, as if she was lapping at some kind of sweet. They'd get bored with her eventually, right?

Beatrice was moving away from her - oh, thank anything that was looking out for her. Sylvie's cunt was pulsing against her mouth, as she licked and licked. The hairbrush in her arse was still _there_ , and she wanted it out. They would at least lose interest in her. They were a pair of rich eccentrics, and they would lose their interest, wouldn't they? 

Rich people always got bored eventually.

"Ooo, Mama," squealed Sylvie. "Mama, Mama, Mama!" She was pulsing against Arabella's mouth, and then she was forcing her cunt against Arabella's mouth even harder, and there was more slick dripping down Arabella's mouth. "Mama, use it on her, please!"

Arabella probably should have wondered what it was they were going to use on her, but her shoulders were throbbing painfully, and her feelings seemed to have been shut off. Every new indignity - what other indignities could there _be_ \- seemed to just be happening far away. There was a body, kept in place by Sylvie's thighs, with aching knees, a throbbing back, a sticky face. There was Arabella, who was off somewhere else, but that didn't matter. None of it mattered. 

"I don't know, sweetheart," said Beatrice, and there was more rustling behind Arabella. There was more rustling. "Has she been good enough for Mama's special toy?"

_Special toy?_ That cut through some of the numbness that seemed to be filling Arabella's mind. 

"I want to see it, Mama, please!" More of that wheedling, whining tone, and Arabella was seized by the urge to bite the flesh in front of her, just to shut Sylvie up. Although all that wouldn't go over well, and she just needed to come out of this in one piece. 

"Anything for my little one," said Beatrice, and then there was more rustling. Then Beatrice was right behind her again, and this time it was Beatrice's bare legs against her own. When had Beatrice taken her dress off? There was something... cold, and it was solid, pressing against Arabella's cunt again, finding where she was still open and wet from Beatrice's fingers.

Beatrice shoved herself forward, pushing Arabella forward as well, right into Sylvie's cunt. The "special toy" (whatever it was) was too big, and it seemed to split her in half. Arabella was already full to bursting with the hairbrush in her arse, and she was being yanked back into her own body, as her most delicate parts were abused.

"No," Arabella sobbed, and then she _wailed_ , as she was grabbed by the hair and hauled upright. Sylvie's skirts fell away from her face, and she was in the brightness of the nursery - when had the lights come on? She was pulled back against Beatrice's body, her trapped hands against Beatrice's belly, and her breasts were heaving, her nipples hard in the cold air. "No, no, please!"

The thing inside of her drove deeper, and Beatrice was holding her close, like a lover. "Look at how well you're taking this," she said, and her voice was sweet, almost gentle. It was the same voice that she used on Sylvie, and it made Arabella's skin crawl. She tried to escape back into that numb emptiness, but Sylvie was pressing closer, and her horrible little mouth was latching on to Arabella's nipple, sucking on it hungrily, greedily.

"Look at my little one," Beatrice cooed, and she was holding on to Arabella's hip with one hand, the other going back between Arabella's legs, shoving up Arabella's skirt. "Such a good little one, getting what she wants."

"Please," Arabella gasped, "please, please, stop it, I can't... I don't..." There were more tears dripping down her face, mixing with the horrible slick muskiness of Sylvie's arousal. Her own sweat was collecting in her armpits, down her sides, the backs of her knees. She was slick with it, disgusting with so many... _fluids_.

Sylvie pulled off of Arabella's breast, and she smiled up, her expression downright _beatific_. "You're going to come," she told Arabella. "You're going to come, all over Mama's special toy."

"No, no," Arabella whimpered, and she thrashed weakly as the hairbrush and the toy inside of her both shifted, pushed in and out by Beatrice's hips, her hands. She was pinned between the two of them, and then Sylvie was standing on tiptoe, grabbing Arabella's breasts with both hands, and they were _kissing_ , over Arabella's shoulder, right in Arabella's ear. 

It all sounded so _wet_ , and Sylvie's fingers were twisting and pulling on her nipples. A shiver of revulsion passed through her, and that added to the pressure that was building and building, deep at the base of her stomach. She was clenching up all over, and the sense of being _close_ to the edge of... something seemed to be happening again. Beatrice was rubbing her, right over the spot where the toy was splitting her open, and it shouldn't have felt so good, so _sickeningly_ good, as she clenched around the toy and the hairbrush, her toes curling and her knees trembling.

Arabella could hear some horrible gasping, whimpering sound, over the smacking lips and the squelch of the toy fucking her. It took her some time to realize that it was coming out of her own mouth, and the humiliation of it (who knew she had it in her to _be_ humiliated anymore?) washed over her like a wave. Like the pleasure that was still building, disgusting and horrifying. 

Sylvie and Beatrice stopped kissing, and then Sylvie's mouth was on Arabella's, and Beatrice was sucking on her neck, right under her pulse point. Sylvie's tongue was in Arabella's mouth, and Beatrice was biting her, and their fingers were pinching and pulling and prodding all over Arabella's body, until Arabella was forced into another paroxysm. 

Arabella cried as the pleasure made her weak, sagging back against Beatrice. Sylvie's teeth were digging into her lip, hard enough that she could taste the iron of her own blood, and Beatrice's teeth were in her neck, and she was reminded of nothing so much as a sparrow caught between two cats. 

"That wasn't so bad, was it, precious?" Beatrice cooed into Arabella's ear. "I'm going to let you go now. Can you be good and hold on to Sylvie?" 

_I think she's forgotten that she tied my hands up_ , Arabella thought distantly. She nodded, and she gave a little sigh of relief as the toy was removed from her cunt. There was an uncomfortable moment, as her cunt tried to grasp it close, and then it was free, and she found herself strangely empty. There was another twist, deep in her guts, as the hairbrush was pulled out as well, and then Arabella's skirt was dropping down around her ankles again, and she was standing there, leaning heavily on Sylvie, her bare chest heaving and her knees weak. Her arse was still stinging from the spanking she had taken, and a low, steady ache was already starting up in her cunt. 

"I still think she's not sorry," Sylvie said, and her tone was stubborn. "She needs more punishing."

"You may be right, Sylvie," Beatrice agreed from behind Arabella.

A wild animal terror seized Arabella, and her body seemed to act before her brain. She ran, stumbling, her arms still tied behind her back, her knees trembling, her skirt flapping around her ankles. She was out of the nursery before she had a chance to think of what she was going to do next, and she hadn't even considered the next step.

And then there _was_ no next step to consider, because she was stumbling down the staircase, before she had a chance to even register it, except that there was pain all across her body, jolting all along her body, down and down and down. There was a point where she fell wrong, and a _crack_ like someone breaking a branch over their knee. There was an explosion of pain in her leg, as bright as the sun, and then she hit another step and it was her shoulder that was screaming, and then there was the sensation of _thunk_ , and everything went dark.

* * *

"It's dislocated," said a voice, drifting out from the darkness. 

Arabella blinked, and everything was fuzzy. Her head ached, her cunt ached, her leg was agony. She was looking into a face, but she didn't recognize the face. Someone was lifting her up, and she whimpered - she'd have screamed, but her head was lolling forward, and that was a wave of nausea gathering in her stomach. She wasn't even aware she was about to vomit until it was spilling out of her mouth, and her arm was being lifted up. There was more agony, and the sensation of _click_ , and then the pain in her shoulder was almost gone.

In a way, that made it worse, because the pain in her leg was even worse. The vomit was burning her throat, her nose, and she was still crying. There were cries of disgust, but she was being lifted up, and then she was blacking out again. 

* * *

Arabella woke up, briefly, at the sensation of someone fiddling with the laces of her corset. She wasn't wearing her blouse or her skirt, just her corset, and there was more fiddling.

"I can't get it undone," said a voice, and that sounded like Sylvie, but that couldn't be Sylvie, it wasn't lisping or simpering. It sounded like a normal woman. 

Arabella frowned, and made a protesting sound as something cold was pressed into her lower back.

"I'll just cut them," said another voice, and that was Beatrice. There was a moment of terror, as the cold metal moved up, and then the relief of the laces of her corset slackening. She took a deep breath, and then she was descending back into darkness again. It was safer in the darkness, at least. She didn't have to think about... any of this. 

* * *

“She’s our niece,” said a voice, as Arabella slowly woke up again. Her head throbbed, and she was lying in bed in… a nightgown? Was it her bed? She wasn’t sure. Everything was foggy, and seemed to be happening a long way away. 

“So what happened, exactly?” That was a man’s voice. Arabella forced her eyes open, and she looked into the face that seemed to be mostly mustache and a big, red nose. 

“The girl is simple,” said another voice, and that was the voice like Sylvie’s that couldn’t be Sylvie’s. “She took a fright from the thunder, before we had a chance to catch her.”

“I wasn’t aware that you had a niece,” said the man. He was examining Arabella. She should have said something - _they’re mad_ , or maybe _please help me_ \- but all that came out was a weak mumble. She was drooling down her chin.

“Our other sister,” said Beatrice. “She’s travelling, and poor Belle was a bit too much of a handful for her.” She reached over, and she was… pinching Arabella’s cheek. 

Arabella wanted to shove her hand away, but couldn’t seem to properly move her hands. They seemed to be miles away. Then their words caught up with her sluggish brain. _Other sister?_

The man with the mustache - presumably a doctor of some kind? - was talking, and Arabella was having trouble keeping awake. The last thing she remembered was the hand on her face. 

* * * 

“Wake up, baby,” said a voice, and Arabella was pulled up out of her sleep, still in the overly soft bed. She was warm and comfortable, apart from the muted throb of her leg. 

Arabella blinked, and found herself staring up into Sylvie’s face. “What’s…” she started to say, but a rubber nipple was pressed into her mouth, and the bottle was tipped back, forcing sweet liquid into her mouth. She swallowed, let it drip down her throat.

“We’ve been meaning to have a new baby,” Sylvie said, and she was tucking Arabella’s hair behind one ear. “And then we got you. We’re gonna take good care of you, baby Belle. Good, good care of you.”

Arabella stared up into Sylvie’s face, and she didn’t realize she was crying until Sylvie collected one wet tear with her thumb, and licked it up. She kept swallowing the sweet liquid, as more tears dripped down her face. 

“Don’t worry,” Sylvie said. “Your new mamas will take good care of you.” She leaned forward, and she kissed the top of Arabella’s head, still holding the bottle. “Mummy will stay with you until you finish your bottle, and Mama will be back up to give you a bath when you’ve had some sleep.” 

More tears dripped down Arabella’s face, as she drank down the sweet liquid and her head throbbed, the room spinning around her. Her eyes were fluttering closed soon after, and the last thing she remembered, before she fell asleep, was the soft press of Sylvie’s lips on her aching head.


End file.
